South California Purples

Every young aspiring bodybuilder wants to go train in Southern California.
The area around Venice and Santa Monica has been a hotbed of bodybuilding for years. This is the place Arnold Schwarzenegger and Franco Colombu longed for while in their respective countries. I too wanted to go there and train twice a day so I could become Mr. Olympia. It was in my future for sure. Daniel Shea, professional bodybuilder. There would be a whole line of booklets people could order in the back of all the bodybuilding magazines.

How To Build Huge biceps by Daniel Shea

Build A Back That Looks Like A Sack of Boa Constrictors by Daniel Shea

Cannonball Delts by Daniel Shea

How To Get Ripped by Daniel Shea

The catalog went on and on. These booklets would all be collectible and going for lots of money on Amazon by now. I would be retired from making action movies and working on becoming the Governor of Michigan.

My career began in the dark dungeon like basement of the Y.M.C.A. on Eleven Mile Road in Royal Oak, Michigan. When I outgrew that, I moved to the original Powerhouse in Highland Park, Michigan. After a guy was found beaten to death in a dumpster behind Powerhouse (the murder was believed to be linked to the gym), my training partner, Wayne and I decided to move over to The Motor City Barbell Club in Madison Heights, Michigan.

Don and Doug Dowe were brothers from Jackson, Mississippi who had relatives in Michigan. They had come there to open The Motor City Barbell Club.
A nice place without any dumpster problems.
We worked out there just about every day. One day, Don was going through mail and found an interesting brochure from a guy that was running a contest for bodybuilders. The lucky winner would move to Venice, California where he would room with another bodybuilder and they would train to be the next Mr. America. The winner would then be a professional bodybuilder. It would all be paid for by Father David Wright, an ordained priest for The Church Of Universal Life. My Dad would later refer to it as, "The Church Of What's Happening Now."

I couldn't wait to send my pictures in. My Mom shot a roll of black and white film in the dining room(I had moved all the chairs out). I went through all my poses. Double biceps, the crab, side chest, front lat spread, stomach vacuum and my best ab poses. Then, since I couldn't wait for the film to be processed, I went downstairs and processed the film myself and made a bunch of 3.5x5 prints and sent them off to Father David Wright who also worked for a place called Tri-Star Electronics.

I continued to bomb and blitz as they used to say. I made gains, ate a dozen eggs and drank a gallon of whole milk every day. This food was courtesy of Machus Sly Fox and Fox And Hounds. The two restaurants where I worked.

Before too long, I received a package from Father David Wright. It was a thank you letter and a small sized yellow tank top with blue piping. It featured images of bodybuilders lifting weights. It said, "Venice Beach."
A SMALL tank top! It was a total outrage. I only wore extra large shirts. Had he not seen my pictures? Was he out of his mind?
His letter informed me that I was in the running in the contest.
I sent the shirt back and explained the horrible mistake he had made. He sent an extra large right away.

Father David Wright and I communicated by mail a few times. He explained how it was all going to work. He then sent me a multiple choice questionnaire. He explained that it was totally confidential and not even my parents could find out what my answers were. Everything was safe with Father David Wright. The questionnaire had many odd questions. Do you get queasy at the sight of blood? If you were home alone on a Friday night, would you, A. read Shakespeare, B. visit a male friend, C. visit a female friend, D. sleep.
There were quite a few questions dealing with homosexuality. I answered all of them very honestly.

After reviewing my questionnaire, the Father called me to set up a phone interview. It was imperative that I should be all alone for this interview. He wanted me to be able to answer all of his questions as honestly as possible.
Bob Corbin and Ken Sylvester, two of my strangest friends were there on the day of the big interview. Ken was very creative and could draw really well and Bob was just totally weird. He would blurt out one syllable words in a crowded mall or on a busy street. "TOYS!", "PAINT!", "ICE!" Nothing was off limits with Bob.
Tell him, "be cool, my parents are home", and he would be screaming immediately.
If he had car problems with his AMC station wagon, he would get a hammer and beat on it. So, these friends were going to help me concentrate during the interview.

The phone rang at three pm as planned. The Father needed assurance that I was alone. I told him I was. Ken and Bob were ready to distract. The Father described his master plan. He wanted someone to come train for Mr. America.
Someone who would not be part of Joe Weider's (guy who ran professional bodybuilding) world. It all sounded fantastic. He would get me a job as a limo driver and I would be registered to carry a gun. Make $30 an hour. But, there was another job. One that paid much more money. $150 an hour. I would be a "male model." Interesting. I imagined posing for an an art class somewhere. Guys wearing berets would be sculpting me. And the girls would be real excited. I imagined Arnold doing something like this on his way to the top. Then, it seemed really cool. By this time, Ken had started on drawings of a huge bodybuilder with a tiny priest at his feet. Worshipping. Bob added a caption of the Father saying, "bend over and let me fondle your grapes!"
They showed me. I lost it. I couldn't stop laughing. The Father didn't understand what was going on. I told him I was just really excited.

Then the whole posing for artists image was shattered when the Father explained that I would be a male prostitute. For men only. I told him I wasn't really interested in that line of work. He explained that Arnold had done it when he first came to America. He also explained that if I let a guy perform oral sex on me or if I were to administer anal to a man, that I wouldn't be gay at all. I remember thinking that this was Father David Wright, ordained priest of The Church Of Unified Life talking here. By this time, Bob was making gestures of fellatio and there were more drawings. I couldn't stop laughing. I told the Father I would think about it. We would talk next week.

I found the story really entertaining and funny. I talked to a few friends. I asked them how can this end? You know, on a high note. Don had the best idea. I decided to go with it.

Father David Wright, high priest of the Church Of Unified Life, part time Tri-Star Electronics employee and part time pimp of male prostitutes called me one last time. On this day, I was alone. He explained that it was down to four bodybuilders, except one was married and he had backed out. So it's three.
He asked me what I had decided. I told him, "Father David Wright, I will do whatever it takes to get to to the top of the bodybuilding world." There was a long silence. Finally, the Father proclaimed, "Dan, I think you.................are THE WINNER of this contest!" He was overjoyed and told me that he would be sending a one way plane ticket right away. Of course my roommate would be none other than the Father himself. He sent many letters and the plane ticket. His letters described all of the great times ahead as well as vivid descriptions of his small apartment on Venice Beach. A blender for protein drinks, many inspirational bodybuilding posters on the walls and a double bed (hope it's big enough for the two of us).

I tried to cash the plane ticket in but it was non-refundable. The Father finally realized that I was not coming and he threatened to turn me in. I didn't really worry too much about that. Maybe twenty years later, I was visiting Don and Big Mike in Southern California. Don had decided to become an actor. I was driving in Venice and saw Tri-Star Electronics. I had to wonder if the Father still worked there.

Up on the roof, down here on the ground

As I turned the corner to head west on Leland Ave., there was a very angry man. He was yelling down the alley. "Hey, you guys just dropped a brick right next to my head!" He was addressing what looked like the crew leader of a bunch of Mexican workers on the roof. There were close to twenty of them and they were looking over the edge of the Mission style three story building to see what all the fuss was about. The crew leader was not really paying attention to what the man was saying much like the brick dropper hadn't been.

The angry man was a hipster of sorts wearing a stingy brim and clear plastic horn rimmed glasses. He talked very articulately, was about 6 foot tall and fairly thin. 

"You guys just dropped a brick right near my head!" Finally, the crew leader perked up and yelled right back. What? Like he was really bothered.

"One of your guys just dropped a brick this close to my head." He used his thumb and fore finger to show a distance of about two and a quarter inches.

I immediately crossed the street. "Do you want me to call the city?" The crew leader just stood there. "What are you guys doing up there? Are you playin'?"

Still no reaction from the crew leader. "Do you know how to do the job? Are you playin' up there?" The crew looking over the edge were smiling and chuckling. It was a comedy act performed by a hilarious gringo.

"Do you want me to call the Police? Are you playn' up there? Do you know how to do the job?" Everything stayed the same. When it was obvious this was it, the angry man walked east shaking his head in disgust. The comedy routine was over. The crew resumed their roof work. Now knowing exactly how to spice up a dull day.

September 10, 2010

Too marvelous for words.
Maybe I'll just hum.
Make someone happy,
and you'll be happy too?
I don't know if I believe that.
Smile, even though your heart is aching.
Good morning heartache.
Bom dia, tristeza.
These came out of speakers big and small
and rattled around in my head for days.
They turned Billie off and put on something horrible.
It's true that nothing is sacred. I wonder why.

Words

Seems I have too many words.

Cut things in half?

Someone once told me,

Listen twice as much as you talk.

That's good. Maybe.

I had something with a lot more words.

I've painted myself into many corners with these.

Moose Lodge

Ron wanted to stop at the liquor store to purchase a case of Budweiser Select. It was closed. He pulled into the Moose Lodge right next door. I thought he was just turning around to get back to the main road. There were quite a few cars in the lot. I said that it looked like there was something going on at the Moose Lodge. Ron parked the truck and said, "there's always something going at the Moose Lodge." I followed him into the lodge. He had a key card that he had to swipe to get in. That place was really secure. Just inside the door to the left was a huge stuffed moose head mounted to the wall. Underneath it was a small table with a book where guests had to be signed in. Ron signed me in and put an "honored guest" sticker on my chest. A sign on the table read, "guests are not permitted to purchase items from the Moose Lodge store." I guess if I had really wanted a Moose Lodge sweat shirt, mechanical pencil or key chain, Ron could have purchased it for me.

As we approached the bar (which was about half full), a few older men greeted Ron and either nodded or smiled at me. We sat down. The bar tender put a Budweiser Select in front of Ron and asked what I wanted. Miller Light.

As we drank these cans of beer, A guy about sixty was talking loud enough for most people on our end of the bar to hear. He was complaining about Obama.

He had been in a branch of the service. "He's not my commander in chief!"

Most of the other guys seemed to agree with him. "He'll never be my commander in chief. I didn't vote for him." Then, he told a story about a guy he knew in the service that was a total prick. He told him that if he ever came through his town, he was going to kill him. He ended that story by saying, "I told him, that's not a threat, that's a promise!" An older guy with gray hair and a pony tail sitting next to him exploded in laughter. These were the best of times at the lodge. Then, he told about taking care of JFK's plane and how JKF came and shook every body's hand. He really liked JFK. Maybe if Obama could just shake his hand. The beer was gone and it was time to leave. Ron said his goodbyes the guys nodded or smiled at me and we walked through a thick cloud of cigarette smoke to the door. As we were driving off, I asked Ron what the story teller's name was. He didn't know. I told him that I thought he looked like Ted Koppel.

Ron laughed in agreement and said, "yes, he did."

There's always something going on at the Moose Lodge.